No One But Each Other
by Peeta Melark
Summary: AU. Maria di Angelo has died and left her two children with their father, Hades, and a Disney-like stepmother. Though he's only ten, Nico carries the weight of his young world on his shoulders. Even though they have their Dad, he and his sister Bianca feel like they've got no one but each other.
1. Chapter 1

I was ten years old when I met my dad. When my mother took ill, he was called on to take care of my sister Bianca and I. At first, it was great having a dad. He was kind and loving and he really seemed to care about us. But then Mama was killed, an explosion, I think; and something broke inside of him. He remarried, a woman named Persephone. She was nothing like Mama. Her eyes were cold and blue, and her face was too beautiful to be real. Oh—and she _hated_ Bianca and I. Every time we got home from school, there would be a list of things we needed to do around the house. Our homework had to be finished quickly and accurately before we started the chores, and we couldn't go to bed before we did. Or rather _I_ couldn't.

Persephone _loved_ Bianca. Every day, she sat down with her and helped her through her homework. She would give her treats and trinkets and showered affection on her. Bianca's room was large and comfortable and it was right next to Persephone's. Sometimes, when Persephone was at a party, Bianca would take me into her room and we would just talk. But I wasn't allowed into Bianca's room usually, and she was _never_ supposed to go into mine.

My room was in the attic. It was cold and dark and so dusty I lay awake most nights coughing. Of course, if I coughed too much or too loudly, Persephone would complain to my dad, and he'd tell me to clean my room.

"Bianca," I said one day as she sat on the floor of my attic room. She looked up from the patterns she was tracing in the dust.

"Hmm?" She took in my expression and her eyes softened. Her eyes were already terribly kind. Reaching out with a warm hand, she cupped my face. "How are you doing, Nico?"

I shrugged, as young boys often do when faced with potentially emotional questions. Bianca narrowed her eyes, studying my face carefully. She looked like she wanted to reach out for my arm, but she didn't. Instead, she played with a couple of cards that were strewn across the floor.

"Do you have to go, Bianca?" I asked. She looked like she was about to cry, but she nodded.

"I know, I know," she murmured, pressing her lips to the top of my head. "But I need to know how you're doing."

Uncomfortable silence filled the room. I shifted in the dust, wondering what Bianca expected me to say. I glared at her through my eyelashes, hoping she might take a hint and shove off. Bianca laughed gently.

"You can tell me," she said, as if I actually _had_ something to tell her. "You know you can tell me anything."

For a moment, I wondered if she knew. She was acting funny, like she knew more than she was letting on. I leveled my gaze and held her stare.

"I'm all right, Bianca. As right as rain."

"You don't have to sound grown up, Nico," she said. "It's just me, and you're only ten."

With that, she was gone. I wanted to call her back, but I heard the door open downstairs. A million thoughts raced through my head. Did I finish my chores? Yes. Was my homework all done? Yeah. Did I eat dinner? No. Was I going to? No. Persephone usually sent me to bed without it. I wasn't hungry anyways.

What on Earth did Bianca want me to tell her? Was it about that guy at school…? The one with the green eyes? Sure, I'd called him cute, but I didn't see anything amiss about that! Bianca called guys cute all the time.

"NICO!" my stepmother yelled. I ran down the stairs, my heart pounding in my chest, to find her sitting at the dining room table, stroking Bianca's long, silky hair. As she raked her thin, white fingers through the ebony strands, I felt anger welling up inside me. Bianca was _my_ sister! Instead, I bit my lip until I tasted blood.

"Yes, Persephone?"

"Nico, your father won't be home until very late. I want you to stay in your room, okay?"

I nodded. "Okay." I opened my mouth to say something else, but Persephone stopped me.

"No," she chided. "Stop talking, Nico. You look just like your mother!"

Bianca gazed at me with so much hurt and pain in her eyes that I wanted to hug her. Persephone, if she noticed, said nothing. Instead, she merely tightened her claw-like grip on Bianca's shoulder and fixed me with her horrible eyes.

"Do you know that, Nico?" she asked. "You look just like Maria."

"How do _you_ know what my mother looked like?" I clapped my hand over my mouth. Oops. Before she could yell at me some more, I ran upstairs to my room, threw myself on the bed and started to cry.

I cried for hours. By the time my father got home, I had already cried myself to sleep. Sometime during the night, Bianca came and wiped tears from my face and tucked me into bed. I only know because I woke up the next morning in my pajamas. I hadn't changed into them.

Persephone wasn't awake when I got up to go to school. My dad greeted Bianca and I with a smile and a hug, something he did every morning. It was a ritual, and it had been since we'd moved in with him. But since our mother's death, he had changed. He wasn't the same father anymore, mostly since he'd married Persephone. He didn't defend me in front of her, and he never came to comfort me later.

"Eat your breakfast, Nico," Dad reminded me. Then he muttered, "The gods know Persephone won't be giving you any dinner."

Bianca's eyes narrowed in a very Bianca-like fashion, but she didn't say anything, which was weird. Instead, she picked at her eggs and bacon. The piece of toast toppled off of the edge of her plate and landed on the table. Grimacing, she grabbed a napkin and wiped it away.

"Eat, Nico," Dad said again. I sat down and shoved a forkful of eggs and bacon into my mouth. Even though I always complained, I _loved_ eggs and bacon. It was all warm and friendly and it reminded me of Mama. But I especially loved toast for some reason. Bianca hated it with a vehemence that almost _scared_ me.

"Nico!" Bianca cried. "Have some manners, please!"

Mumbling around the food in my mouth, I tried to tell her that I had all the manners I needed. As I did, I felt the weight of Dad's hand on my shoulder. It comforted me; let me know that I wasn't as alone as I thought.

"Dad?" I asked.

"Hmmm?" He didn't look up from the newspaper he had opened.

"Dad, why don't you just ditch the Disney stepmother?" It went without saying that I meant Persephone. Dad sneered into his cup of coffee as he took a scalding sip.

"I don't know, Nico," he admitted. "I just don't know."

That was answer I was going to have to get used to.


	2. Chapter 2

School was uneventful, as always. When I got there, someone threw a shoe at my head, but it didn't hit, and my feelings weren't hurt. It was just a sneaker anyways, not anything that could do any real damage. No one bothered me for the rest of the day. No one even talked to me… no one but Bianca anyways.

As we passed the boy with the green eyes in the hallway, Bianca took my hand. She was about a head taller than me, but she leaned down to say, "You can tell me, Nico."

I glared at her. "Tell you what?"

She hugged me tightly and asked me if I had a crush on the green-eyed guy. I frowned. Why shouldn't I? Bianca laughed breathlessly.

"Because…" She struggled for words. "No reason, Nico. None that I can find. But you can't tell anyone else. Just me, okay?"

For some reason, I wanted to cry. I felt embarrassed, something that rarely happened to me. I'd never thought there was anything wrong with me, but now I wasn't so sure. The way Bianca was talking made me feel put on the spot. I didn't feel normal anymore, not that I ever had.

"I'm sorry, Bianca," I said. My eyes were prickly. No. I wasn't going to cry. I wouldn't let myself cry. Bianca brushed her fingers across my cheek. They were cold.

"It's okay," she whispered. "I promise. There's nothing wrong with being gay."

So that's what it was called. It seemed like such a happy word to be causing me so much pain. Still, I trusted Bianca more than I trusted anyone. If she said it was okay, then it was okay. Sighing, I pulled away from her grasp and picked up the backpack I had dropped.

"We'd better get home," I mumbled. "Persephone will probably pick you up. I'll be walking. See you."

Before she should protest, I was already gone. In my hurry to get away, I didn't notice the people in front of me. In seconds, I found myself falling, landing on top of none other than the boy with the green eyes. I blushed and scrambled to my feet, brushing off my clothes with one hand, picking up my scattered Mythomagic cards with the other.

"Watch it!" I heard myself say. The older boy pulled a face.

"Sorry, kiddo. Hey—I know you!"

I looked up briefly. "Do you?"

"Yeah. You're Bianca's little brother, right? She's in my history class."

Grimacing, I told him that I was Nico, not _Bianca's little brother_. That wasn't a name. Grinning, he told me his name. It was Percy Jackson, short for Perseus, but no one but his mother called him that (and she only did when she was really mad). I told him my mother was dead, but my stepmother liked to curse at me in Greek.

"Do you speak Greek?" he asked. I shook my head.

"Italian."

"Oh. _I_ speak Greek."

I mumbled something along the lines of _I don't care_, and tried to get through the door. Percy stopped me. When I turned back, he was holding out one of my Mythomagic cards.

"You dropped this."

I grabbed it, stuffing it gracelessly in my pocket. Then I shoved open the door and ran. Gods, this guy was annoying. Why did I like him again? Well, at least I knew his name. Wait… whoa. I was only ten; why did I even like _anyone_? When I got outside, I looked at the card he'd handed me. Poseidon.

By the time I got home, it was raining hydras and Minotaur. As soon as I reached the steps, Persephone was already waiting for me with a list of chores. Bianca trailed behind her, begging quietly to be allowed to help.

"No, Bianca," Persephone said. "Nico isn't a baby."

I did my homework and chores and ran up to my room. Someone, probably my dad, had replaced my blanket with a warmer one and swept up all the dust. My books were on their shelves and all of my Mythomagic cards were shoved into their boxes.

"Thanks, Dad," I murmured. Of course, I didn't expect him to be standing right behind me.

"No problem, Nico," he said. I nearly jumped out of my skin. He stepped in front of me, holding a deck of cards in his hands. "You don't have this one, right?"

I took it, turning it over and over. "No," I managed. "I don't. Why?"

"I've decided to leave Persephone." Before I could interrupt, he continued. "No, no! It won't happen immediately, and I'm going to need to wait to finalize that decision. But I've been talking to your sister, and I've decided this is the right way to go."

I was speechless. This was too fast, wasn't it? I mean, I hadn't been _serious_ when I asked him to break up with her. Or was this something he'd been planning for a long time?"

"Dad, I—"

"I know, Nico, I know. Was it your fault? No. I've been horrible this past year, and I mean to make it up to you—you _and_ Bianca. I owe it to you and I owe it to Maria."

As I always did when someone mentioned Mama, I bowed my head. Dad noticed and put his hand on my shoulder. Suddenly, my attic room felt cramped. It was the first time, with Dad being nearly 6' 4", that I noticed how tiny my room really was.

"When are you going to leave, then?"

"Leave _her_," he corrected. "Not you, not Bianca."

"When?"

"Soon," was the only answer I got. Dad turned at left the room, closing the door behind him. It was almost as if he was never there at all. I stared after him, imagining that I could see through the door itself. Then I heard Bianca singing.

_There is a lady all in white  
Holds me and sings a lullaby  
She's nice to see, and she's soft to touch  
She says: Cosette, I love you very much_

It wasn't too surprising, except that she hadn't sung with such happiness in a long while. I wanted to leave my room and just listen. But I couldn't. I had to sleep. If I didn't, I'd be too tired to get my chores done the next day, and there would be no _way_ I'd pass that history exam.

"Goodnight, Mama," I whispered as I crawled into bed. "We're going to be okay, Bianca and I are. Dad's taking care of us."


	3. Chapter 3

The next day, I woke up with a splitting headache and a sore throat. I couldn't go to school, and Bianca stayed home to take care of me. Dad and Persephone argued downstairs as Bianca fed me soup and tea with a spoon. I couldn't sit up, which didn't make the constant bickering any better. After an hour or so, Bianca sighed heavily, her chest rising and falling abruptly.

"What's wrong, sister?" I asked. She stroked my cheek with a caring hand.

"Nothing. Nothing. You sleep." It wasn't an offer; it was a command. I closed my eyes but found it impossible to fall asleep. Just as I felt Bianca get up to leave, I opened my eyes again.

"Are you sure?" I sounded like her, and she knew it. With another sigh, she sat back down.

"I'm just worried about you, is all," she admitted. "I didn't mean to upset you yesterday."

"It's not your fault I'm sick," I assured her, taking her hand and pressing it to my forehead. The warmth of her palm made me feel better. Bianca laughed.

"Of course not, but I worried you about that guy. Nico, I _swear_ it's okay. I'm not upset."

I knew she wasn't. If she were, she would have been giving me strained smiles. She would have been constantly trying to talk to me about it, and she wouldn't have defended me so much in front of Persephone (though she _always_ did).

"Okay, Bianca." I rolled over, resting my head in the curve of her elbow. She stroked my hair away from my eyes, singing softly in Italian. It was a song that Mama used to sing to us when we were sad or scared. Bianca's voice wasn't anywhere _near_ as mature and trained as Mama's, but it was similar in both its range and intensity. I sighed contentedly, the headache fading under her cool fingers. "Am I?" I asked.

"Are you what?" Bianca smiled.

"Your little soldier?"

"Of course you are." She kissed my forehead. "You're _always_ going to be my little soldier."

I nestled closer to her, wrapping my arms around her waist. She held me, singing and talking. Her voice was comforting.

After another hour, dad came in. He was grim-faced and pale.

"Persephone is leaving within the week," he said. Bianca gasped.

"So soon, Papa?' She didn't sound heartbroken.

"She wants to take you with her, Bianca."

Bianca huffed. "Well she can't."

Dad laughed. "I told her the same. The lawyers will tell her the same. As I am your biological parent, _I_ have custody of the both of you. Also, seeing as I lived here first with your mother and you, Persephone will be the one house hunting. The gods know she never helped with this house anyways. We did have an _excellent_ housekeeper, though."

I laughed. He meant _me_. No one else did any cleaning around here. Sometimes, I even raked the lawn. Not that I was any good at it. I was too small and the rake was too big. Whenever I went out to rake, Dad always took it away from me and sent me back in to do my homework.

"You won't be doing all the chores anymore, Nico," Dad told me. I sighed, relieved.

"Good to know."

Bianca smiled gently and shooed Dad out of the room. I needed rest, she said, and I wouldn't be getting any if he did a victory dance every two seconds. Sure, we were glad Persephone was leaving. But did he _really_ have to interrupt my sleep for that? Dad grumbled an Italian curse and left. As soon as the door shut, I heard Persephone's voice screaming shrilly in Greek. Dad yelled back in kind. I heard his hand slam on the wall.

"Wretched woman!" I heard him shout. "You do NOT insult my son!"

At my side, Bianca flinched. "She called you stupid."

I frowned. "You speak Greek now?"

Blushing, Bianca confessed that Persephone had taught her some. But it wasn't much, she promised, just a word or two here and there. She hadn't turned to the dark side of the Force. I didn't think she had, and I made sure she knew that. Laughing, she pulled the covers up to my chin and tucked me in.

"Sleep tight, little brother." The door clicked shut behind her, leaving me in darkness.

"Good morning to you too," I murmured, closing my eyes.

**O~O~O~O**

I fell asleep pretty quickly and slept for a really long time. When I woke up, it was dark out and there was a tray on the end of my bed. I lay back down, trying to get to sleep again, but Bianca's voice stopped me.

"Nico, you need to eat dinner," she said. This would not be the last time I heard this, not from Bianca and not from my friends. Begrudgingly, I pulled the tray onto my lap. Bianca sat next to me and picked up the spoon. I let her feed me the pasta, complaining only when it fell off the fork. Bianca giggled.

"Sorry. So… how's Percy?"

I glowered. "I'm over it."

"You're _ten_, Nico. You're _never_ over anything."

As much as I hated to admit it, she was absolutely right. I still had a crush on Percy, and it would take more than a day or two for me to get over it. But at least Bianca wasn't making a big deal out of it. She made a big deal out of _everything_.

"Will you sing me to sleep?" I asked. Bianca smiled gently.

"Sure." And she did. She sang to me until I felt myself falling into a deep, dreamless sleep. Before she left, the last thing I heard her say was, "Goodnight, Nico."

**Anyone who hasn't heard "Nico's Lullaby" by Paola Bennet needs to listen to it ASAP. It's the song I have in mind for Bianca's singing in this chapter. **


	4. Chapter 4

Going back to school was almost like walking into a dungeon, knowing I was about to face horrible torture, with little knowledge of what I would have to fight for my life, and no weapon. To put all that simply, it was terrifying. I was still small enough (despite being ten years old) to cling to Bianca like a tiny child, so that part was covered. I could pretend to be impossibly more afraid and people might leave me alone. I was wrong, of course, but how was I supposed to know that?

"Nico, go to class," Bianca scolded, prying my hands away from her sweater. She glanced around nervously as if she thought her friends might see her little brother clinging to her in the middle of the hallway. "You're going to be late!"

"You mean _you're_ going to be late," I corrected. "I get it."

I was about to turn away, to run off in the general direction of my first class, but Bianca stopped me. When I turned back, exhaling angrily, she gave a small, apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry, Nico, I'm just really…" She stopped, blinking slowly. "Never mind. Just get to class."

For once, I listened to her. I blinked back my tears and stomped off towards the room that was my 5th grade classroom. That was where math, literature (called English for some stupid reason), history, and free period took place. Science was in a different room because my teacher wasn't really equipped to teach a bunch of hyperactive ten-year-olds how the Universe supposedly worked.

The classroom was empty when I got there, which was odd. I thought to myself that there should have been a teacher or some other kids. The bell was about to ring, so why were they so late? Carefully, slowly, I peeked under the teacher's desk and in one of the cabinets. Still no one.

"Guys?" I called. "Ms. Emily?"

There was no response. As I sat down in my desk chair, I started to wonder if I was in a dream. What if I wasn't really here and it was all just a bad dream, and maybe Bianca would come and wake me up and everything would be all right. But I knew that wasn't true. I knew my classmates and my teachers would be in the room in a few moments, all clamoring to know if I was still sick, if I was contagious, if the rumors were true about my parents breaking up. I would have to laugh them off or I would have to hide. And I knew I would choose to hide because I always chose to hide. Hiding was always easier because I was good at it.

"Nico?" It was Ms. Emily's voice. I looked up to see her kneeling in front of my desk, peering into my eyes worriedly. "Nico, are you all right?"

I shrank away, pressing my back into the back of my chair. "I'm fine, Ms. Emily," I growled. "Just fine."

She reached out to pat my shoulder, and I let her. "Nico, I _know_ how hard this must be fore you, but I'm telling you it all gets better."

"What must be hard for me?" I asked, genuinely perplexed. Ms. Emily smiled gently.

"I know how hard it is to have your peers make fun of you. You don't have to pretend you don't notice, okay?"

I shook my head. "Well I _didn't_ until you pointed it out." My face was a mixture of hatred and hurt. "But thanks for telling me."

By then the other kids had arrived. They sort of stared at me, whispering and laughing, poking each other in the ribs. One of them made a face at me, but I didn't respond. They wanted a response. That was what Bianca always said. If I responded, they'd have what they wanted and that wouldn't be good. They'd take advantage of my good nature, apparently. At least Bianca thought so. I always asked her, _What good nature_? And then she would slap my arm playfully and laugh like it was some joke that the two of us shared. But I knew she brought it up with Dad later. I heard the conversations often enough.

The school day passed as it always did. I had my classes and lunch and more classes. I was bored to tears because I couldn't focus and I couldn't spell. My teachers had some fancy names for it, but the other kids just thought I was lazy and stupid. _Well, let them, _I thought. _It doesn't bother me_.

When I got home, Dad and Bianca were seated in the living room, talking in low, agitated voices. For a moment, I contemplated just sneaking up to my room and playing Mythomagic by myself. But it was no fun without Bianca, and how could I pass up an opportunity to eavesdrop?

"Dad," Bianca was saying. "You can't let them say those things! He's _going_ to hear them."

Dad exhaled tiredly. "Bianca, Bianca, Bianca," he soothed. I could almost see him putting his hands on her shoulders comfortingly. "I'm sure they don't mean anything by it. And I'm sure Nico needs to fight his own battles. You can't be his big sister forever, you know."

"Yes, I can," my sister insisted, her voice harsh and low. "I can and I _will_."

"What have they been saying?" Dad inquired. I heard Bianca's hands thump the couch next to her in exasperation. Her next words were spoken in a high whine—her imitation of the other kids at school.

"Nico's got a crush on Percy! Oh, that's _terrible_! What's his problem! Nico can't spell! He's _ten years old_, why not? Blah, blah, blah."

Dad was about to reply when my foot hit a box I hadn't seen before. I heard him get up and scrambled halfway up the stairs.

"Nico?" he called. "Nico, are you there?"

I ran down the stairs, trying to make it seem like I'd been up there the whole time.

"Here, Dad!" I called. He raised his eyebrow at me as if to ask whether I had been eavesdropping. I shook my head, smiling innocently. I knew he didn't buy it, but I didn't really have time to care. "What'd you want?"

Dad took me by the elbow and pulled me down the stairs. I complained weakly, but he wasn't hurting my arm and he wasn't even pulling that hard. Bianca watched smugly from the doorway of the kitchen, smirking as if to say _I told you so_. I stuck my tongue out at her and she did the same. Dad smiled, picked me up and carried me into the living room, where I was plopped gracelessly onto the couch.

"Nico," Dad mused, pacing back and forth in front of me. "We need to have a conversation. A very serious one at that. Do you think you can be patient with your tired old father for that long?"

I wanted to say that he didn't look tired _or_ old, but I figured it wouldn't help. Instead, I just shrugged and said, "Sure. Talk away. I'm listening."

**A/N: Enjoy! Any suggestions? **


	5. Chapter 5

I guess Dad hadn't expected me to agree. His eyes widened as he began fumbling for words. I kicked my shoes off and pulled my knees up under my chin, sinking into the back of the sofa, waiting for him to say something. I expected him to talk about my grades or the arguments I'd had with some of the other kids in the past week, but he went right for the kill, lunging right for my heart with some kind of metaphorical knife.

"This is about your, um, _crush_, Nico."

"_Cosa?_" I lapsed back into Italian, something I did often when I was nervous, upset or overly excited. After years speaking English with my peers, I thought I'd learned to control my impulse. "What?"

Dad gave me a kind smile, but a sad one. "Nico, I understand what you must be going through. I must confess I am surprised, but I promise you I'm not angry."

Surprised? Angry? What the heck was he going on about? I glanced at Bianca's worried face in the hallway and it hit me. Realization crashed through me like a wave in a storm. I felt like I was wandering through a blizzard, lost, cold, with no strength to call out for help. Dad knew. He knew I was… Oh gods!

"Dad, please," I hurried to explain. "I can… I can…" Words failed me. Dad knelt down in front of me, gripping my shoulders.

"Nico, I said I'm not angry, and I'm not. So I have a gay son—there's worse that could happen."

I sank to my knees, trembling. Strong, fatherly arms wrapped around me, pulling me into a hug. I felt like a little kid again, which I guess I kind of still was.

"I'm young," I insisted. "I'll get over it."

Dad knew I wouldn't. I know that now. But he smiled and said, "I'm sure you will. Now go do your homework, okay?"

Doing my homework wasn't easy. I kept thinking about that boy with the green eyes. Percy Jackson. I almost said his name out loud, just to see if I could. But I didn't. I didn't want to confess to myself that I still liked him. That would be giving in to defeat, I thought, and I couldn't do that. Could I? No. No, no, no. I was Nico di Angelo, the kid who sat in the back of the room and didn't talk to anyone. I was the kid who played a dumb card game and obsessed over mythology. My teachers hated me and the other kids liked me even less. Did Percy like me? Probably not. Rumor had it he'd gotten a pretty blonde girlfriend named Annabeth Chase. And rumor had it she was the smartest person in the whole school (teachers included). Yeah. He wouldn't be dumping her anytime soon.

"Nico?" Bianca called. I heard the sound of her bare feet on the wooden floor as she walked into the room.

"Go away!" I yelled back. "I don't want to talk to you right now."

Bianca sat down next to me anyways, giving me that sad, apologetic grin she was so good at. For a moment, a horrifying, scary moment, I hated her. For a single devastating second, I hoped she would just die and go away. Looking back, I really wish I hadn't thought it. Even a _thought_ can kill a person.

"I know," she whispered. "I know. I'm sorry. I just thought—"

"You thought you were _helping_, didn't you?" I spat. Bianca nodded, her black hair falling in front of her eyes.

"I-I-I-I—" she stammered, unable to find the right words. Then she straightened up, setting her jaw firmly. "I did."

I turned back to my homework. "Well, you thought wrong. I hate you." Those horrible thoughts came back to me before I could stop them. "I wish you would die."

Bianca got up from her seat at the table, sighing angrily. Her eyes blazed with fury and injury… injury that was caused by _me_. Before I could take it back, my sister was already talking a mile a minute, gesturing wildly with her hands the way we both did when we were mad or upset of excited.

"I'm going to a friend's house tonight," she declared. "I'll be back about ten thirty tomorrow morning, okay? Don't miss me too much."

With that, she was gone. I watched her run upstairs and then I watched the stairs until she ran back down, sleepover bag slung over her shoulder, hair tied back in a high ponytail. Dad came down the stairs after her, giving her a hug and kissing her forehead.

"Stay safe, Bianca," he murmured. "And have fun at Zoë's house."

_Zoë_? She was hanging out with _her_? I couldn't believe it… except that I really _could_. Bianca had been hanging out with a group of girls who called themselves the Hunters of Artemis. They were pretty much a group of guy haters, and I couldn't stand them. The times I'd run into them in the hall, they'd been stuck up and rude, not allowing Bianca to even call me her brother. Why would she still hang out with them? The only one I actually liked was Thalia. She was thirteen, like Bianca would be turning at ten thirty the next day, and she was kind of nice. Sometimes, when the others weren't looking, she would ask me about Mythomagic or how school was. But I knew it was just because she had a crush on my sister, not because she actually liked conversing with me. I was just another dumb guy.

"Bye, Bianca," I said meekly. She looked at me with a wink and a small smile.

"Bye, Nico. See you in the morning, okay?"

I watched her go because I really didn't have anything left to do, and then I went to bed. I wasn't tired or anything, just bored. For a while, I lay in bed, looking at the ceiling, writing bad poetry in my head and then ripping out the imaginary notebook pages and using them for firewood. The fire in my head looked really, really pretty.

"Dad?" I called out after about two hours of lying in bed and doing nothing.

"What?" He was using his best _I'm working_ voice.

"Can I come sit with you? I'm bored."

I knew he wanted to protest, but instead he told me I could. I ran into his office and sat on the floor in front of the desk. The TV was on, playing the news, but neither of us were really listening. Dad was doing some kind of paperwork and I was playing with my Mythomagic cards, but somehow it was better because we were together—father and son.

The TV droned on and something caught my attention. It caught Dad's too.

_"A car accident near Winters Street has left four injured and two dead. More on this story after the break_."

"Winters Street?" I asked. "Isn't that near—"

"Zoë's house," Dad confirmed. "I wouldn't worry, okay, Nico?"

I nodded, worry already growing in my chest, making me feel like someone had shoved a pillow into my ribcage. What if Bianca was hurt? What if I'd never see her again because she was _dead_?

"Nico," Dad commanded. "Don't. Worry."

The TV flickered through commercials as I stared at it blankly. Then it was back to the story.

"_A car crashed today on Winters Street and Third Avenue, killing two pedestrians and injuring four others, including the driver—Sally Jackson—and her son Percy. Among the injured are also a girl named Thalia Grace and another who said her name is simply Artemis. The dead girls are fourteen-year-old Zoë Nightshade and—"_

Dad flicked the TV off and got up, pacing his study like a hungry lion or tiger at the zoo. His eyes were very dark and angry. I sat by the wall, curled up against it, whispering, "I take it back. I take it back."

"Nico, your sister is _fine_," Dad insisted. "She's fine, okay? Don't worry. Any second now Bianca will call to tell us she's fine. She'll call and say she's just fine. Don't you worry."

Then the phone rang.


	6. Chapter 6

Before I could grab the phone, Dad was already talking into it in a low, agitated voice. His free hand pulled at the buttons on his jacket nervously. He looked devastated, and I wondered what Bianca could be saying to make him look like that. Then I realized something awful. It wasn't Bianca on the phone. It wouldn't ever be Bianca on the phone again. I knew it before Dad fixed me with his dark eyes and said,

"Your sister is dead, Nico. I want you to get your stuff and move into my room for the night, okay?"

Numbly, I nodded, but I couldn't find the strength to get to my feet. Instead, I listened to Dad's end of the conversation.

"Yes. I am Mr. Hades di Angelo, her father. I see… I'll… I'll come by as soon as I get my son to bed… I told him, yes… thank you… all right… Yes, of course. Of course. Good night, then."

He hung up the phone and then just stood there with his hand on the smooth, plastic abomination that had announced my sister's death. But I knew what he was feeling. I felt like I was supposed to be doing something, maybe getting up or saying something, but I couldn't. Every inch of me was numb and tired. Bianca wasn't dead, I told myself. She was going to be home at ten thirty the next morning like she promised she would. We'd have a good laugh over this whole thing too. How could we have been so stupid that we _believed_ she was dead? The whole thing would just be a bad dream for us to forget!

In my heart, I knew this wasn't true. I could feel it. Bianca wasn't coming back, not _ever_. And I knew something else too. Percy Jackson had killed her by being there. He was a bad luck charm, and I wouldn't have anything to do with him. He was responsible for my sister's death. How could I have ever had a crush on him when he was practically a murderer?

My dad knelt down next to me, pulling me into a crushing hug. I could feel him crying, but I didn't cry. I couldn't cry. Bianca needed me to be strong. I had to be strong like Bianca would want. I couldn't let her see that I was hurt. I couldn't let her see that I wanted her back. If I did, then she'd really be gone.

"Oh, Nico, I'm so, so sorry!" Dad whispered into my hair. I tried to keep the tears back but they came spilling out. Before I could stop myself, I was sobbing, clinging to my father's jacket with both hands. "I'm sorry…"

"Stop it!" I wept. "Stop, stop, stop! I can't… I can't…" Coherency was lost to sobs. Dad and I just sat there, holding on to each other for dear life until he had to leave.

"Nico, I need you to get to bed, okay? Stay with me tonight… I don't want to leave you alone. I'll call… I'm going to call Aunt Hestia and she'll come watch you tonight. You can watch a movie if you're not sleepy, and I'll tell her to bake some cookies with you. Don't miss Bianca too much tonight. She wouldn't… she wouldn't have been home now anyways."

It was a cruel thing to say, but it was bitingly true. Bianca would have been at her sleepover with Zoë, Thalia and Artemis. Only Thalia and Artemis were alive now.

When Dad left, I turned on the TV. It said that Bianca had died on impact. Zoë Nightshade had been impaled with some flying piece of metal or something like that, and she died of her injuries in the hospital. There were pictures on the screen too. One of them was of Thalia and Artemis, clinging to one another as tears and blood streaked their pale, frightened faces. Thalia's arm was obviously broken and Artemis had a long gash running down her arm, gushing blood as she stared brokenly in front of her. I wondered why these pictures were on the news. I wondered if there would be any of Bianca. There weren't. It was as if she didn't exist.

"Nico?" Hestia's voice called. I heard the front door click shut and scrambled to turn of the TV. As she came through the office door, she looked as pretty, young and kind as ever. Her amber eyes glittered with sadness and determination as she grasped my hand and pulled me to my feet. I followed her down the stairs into the kitchen, sitting numbly on the counter while she pulled out the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies and turned on some music.

"Bianca likes cookies," I mumbled when I finally found my voice. "She's coming back tomorrow. We should make extra cookies so Bianca can have some."

Hestia gasped, halfway through the process of pulling her long, brown hair into a ponytail. As she rushed to gather me in her arms, I heard her whisper, "Oh my gods!"

"We should make the cookies now," I said flatly, wriggling out of the hug. "I like cookies too."

My whole body felt like rubber except for my heart. My heart was lead. The thought of cookies didn't make it any better. I kept thinking about how I was going to apologize to Bianca when she got home in the morning. It was her birthday in the morning too. She didn't celebrate birthdays much, but I thought they were a huge deal. Well… I did when I was very small. But years of Persephone ignoring them had taught me not to care.

"Okay," Hestia agreed. "Okay." She looked so close to tears, so fragile. I'd never seen her like that before. Before, she had always been strong and kind. She looked after Bianca and I for a while after our mother died. She was so nervous that day in the kitchen, though. More than ever she looked like the small, brown-haired, amber-eyed, pale, freckled twenty-four-year-old young woman she was.

We put together the cookies very, very quickly and put them in the oven. Then Hestia and I sat down on the sofa to watch a movie. I picked _West Side Story_ because it was Bianca's favorite. But I didn't really watch. I stared at Maria and remembered how Bianca used to go around singing those songs. I remembered her high, clear voice, like a ringing bell. Though it hadn't been perfect, with her gone I thought it was the voice of an angel. I didn't cry, but I imagined Bianca sitting next to me, weeping like she always did.

"_Stai bene_?" asked Hestia. I barely noticed that she was speaking in Italian.

"_Sì_," I lied. "_Bianca arriverà a casa domani, sì?_"

"No, Nico," Hestia whispered, her voice cracking. "Your sister won't be home."

I scowled because I knew she was right. Dad was out—probably at the morgue—dealing with her death. It was all my fault. If I hadn't wished she'd die, then maybe she wouldn't have died. And if Percy Jackson hadn't been going wherever he was going, his mother's car wouldn't have crashed and killed my sister.

NO! I forced the thoughts out of my head. Bianca was coming home. She _had_ to be coming home.

The timer went off and Hestia said, "I'm going to bring you some cookies, okay?"

But I didn't care. If Bianca wouldn't be coming home nothing else mattered. I let Hestia feed me cookies and send me off to bed, but the actions were empty. If I couldn't have my sister then I was determined not to live. Oh, I'd breathe and walk and blink and all that, but I'd be no better than a robot. Bianca was my sister, my soul, my anchor, but now…

"Now she's dead," I whispered, pulling the blankets up to my chin before crying myself to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

I didn't go back to school for a whole week. When I did, kids were too busy feeling sorry for me to be mean. People kept coming up to me in the hallways, asking me if I was okay or telling me they were sorry for my loss. I didn't have to do my homework, but I did anyways.

Bianca's funeral was held two days and a night after she died. Dad wanted to bury her in an old cemetery next to our mother. The day before the funeral, we went to pay our respects to Mama, bringing with us a bouquet of red and white roses and a few sad, sorry words to say. Dad knelt next to the grave, his head bowed as if in prayer, his eyes closed tightly against a torrent of tears and pain.

"Maria," he whispered, crying. "I shouldn't have left you, and I realize that now. I should have been there to watch Bianca and Nico grow up until now and I promise I will be there for… for our son now. Maria, I think you should know that Bianca is dead. I couldn't have stopped it, or maybe I could have. But either way it's done. I'll never hear our daughter's light footstep on the stairs or hear that angel's voice you gifted her with. She will be twelve years old forever. I'm sorry. But Nico…" He glanced at me. "Nico is growing up into a wonderful young man. He'll be twelve in two years, but you know that. You only l-left this world eleven and a half months ago. He's almost eleven, Maria."

He stopped, sobs shaking his tall frame, making him look like a paper cutout figure, one of those paper dolls Bianca used to love. Then he got up and gestured for me to take his place. I sat down by Mama's grave, wishing I could see her again. I remembered Bianca's face when we'd visited the funeral home before coming to the cemetery, to say a private goodbye to Bianca before the wake. She had been so pale, so still… She might have been asleep. They had dressed her up so prettily in a white dress that might have been for a porcelain doll, and her hair was so silky and soft-looking, so beautiful. I wondered if it was a game and Bianca would jump up and scare m. But she didn't. The whole time we were there her eyes remained closed and she didn't breathe.

"Mama," I started, my voice trembling. "Mama, I'm scared. A day or two ago I had a sister. I… I _know_ I did! And now I don't. I just don't understand how that can happen, Mama. And I don't understand how Daddy can still love me. I'm not normal, Mama, and he forgot to tell you that! Why did he forget to tell you?"

Dad's arms wrapped around me, pulling me away from the grave. I was a sobbing wreck, kicking and screaming, trying to get back to Mama's grave so I could tell her how much I hated myself. It took a while for me to come to that conclusion, but Bianca's death made it final. I hated myself and I hated Percy Jackson. That much was clear. With Bianca gone, there was no one to tell me it was okay. And she was _supposed_ to say that because I was her _brother_.

"Nico," Dad commanded, his voice firm yet kind. "Come, Nico, we're going home."

I pounded my fists into his chest, trying to break free, but my father was too strong. He carried me away from my mother's final resting place and into our car. When I was placed on the backseat, I collapsed into a fit of tears that lasted the whole way home. When we got there, Dad had to pull me out of the car and up the steps to the front door. That's when I stopped crying. It was when I realized I was crying and managed to shut myself up. I wasn't supposed to cry. Until then I had been too numb to cry more than once or twice. Mostly, I just went through my day like an automaton: Eat. Sleep. Play Mythomagic. Repeat as needed.

**O~O~O~O~O~O~O**

The wake was painful, the funeral even worse. Thalia and Artemis clung to each other the whole time, crying their eyes out. Zoë's body was there too. We had decided to bury her with Bianca—or rather our _parents_ had.

"She was so, so brave," Thalia wept, looking into Zoë's still, cold face. "She wanted to make sure we were okay before she… she…"

Artemis wrapped her arms around Thalia, holding her tightly. "Shh!" she soothed. "It's all right now. She is at peace."

"I'm so sorry for your loss," said a very familiar voice. Percy Jackson. I whirled on him.

"Oh yeah?" I asked. "Tell that to your mother, why don't you?"

Percy looked awful. There was a bandage on his head and his arm was in a cast. His ankle was broken too, I noticed. There were bruises on his face, his arms, almost everywhere, and he looked like he hadn't slept. He must have been reliving it all in his sleep—the blood, the screams, the dead girls on the street, and the pain too. There was guilt etched in every crevice of his beautiful green eyes.

"I will," he whispered. I stepped back, shocked.

"What?"

"You're right," he ground out through his teeth, suddenly angry. "It's our fault. Your sister is dead and it's our fault. The road was slippery, someone crashed into us and we veered into your sister and her friend Zoë. But it's all our fault—_my_ fault. I'll tell my mother that when I go visit her in the hospital, yeah? I'll tell my aunt when I get home and maybe she can take a message."

With that, he stalked off. I stared after him. Then I turned sharply towards my sister's coffin. When I looked inside, she looked the same as before. Her eyes were closed and her expression was fixedly peaceful. Flowers were folded under her hands—thirteen white roses—and her hair was braided with tiny white ribbons. She looked like an angel.

"Bianca," I murmured. "Bianca, wake up. I need you. I miss you, okay? And-and I'm trying to be strong, but it's too hard. I can't do this anymore. It's only been a few days and I'm already missing you. Please, please don't be dead."

She didn't hear me. My sister was good and dead. My heart sank as I stepped away and turned to Zoë's coffin. There wasn't much for me to say, but I did my best. Sure, she hadn't been nice to me, and she'd been Bianca's friend, but I figured Bianca would be cross if I didn't say anything at all.

I went around to the other people at the wake, listening to their sympathy, enduring their tedious conversation for long enough to learn what they thought of Bianca. She was an angel, the grown ups said. The other kids said she was nice, and Thalia went so far as to say she was perfect. Eventually, Dad must have seen tears running down my face. He took me gently by the shoulder and sent me home with Aunt Hestia.

The funeral went by without a hitch. We said prayers, I sang Bianca's favorite song and her body was put into the earth. Simple as that. Tears were shed and then I no longer had even a body in front of me to remind me of my sister. She was gone, just swallowed up by the earth as if she had never existed. All that reminded me of her was the pain in my chest and the tombstone.

"Dad?" I asked as he tucked me into bed. I'd been staying in his room while we adjusted to Bianca's absence. At first I thought it was for my sake, but later I realized Dad just hadn't wanted to let me out of his sight. He'd just lost his daughter. I was his son, and he wanted to keep me near him so he could be sure he hadn't completely failed; there was still purpose in his life. _Me_.


End file.
